


How Do You Solve a Problem Like Stiles?

by LadyMerlin



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hale Family, Based on a Tumblr Post, Deliberate Seduction, Fluff, Humour, M/M, casual nudity, mentions of numerous phallic objects
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-08 17:11:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5506094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyMerlin/pseuds/LadyMerlin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The problem with Stiles is that he absolutely totally 100% thinks he's hilarious.</p><p>It's not so much a problem as it is... No, it's a <i>problem</i>. </p><p>Because he really isn't, except maybe when he snorts milk out of his nose, or when he mimics Coach Finstock perfectly, or when he goes to Deaton's to play in the puppy pens and ends up with the same grumpy Pomeranian chewing his hair each time. But that's entirely besides the point. </p><p><i>Nothing</i> about the way Stiles is fellating that Popsicle is funny. <i><b>Nothing</b></i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Do You Solve a Problem Like Stiles?

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this post](http://thealphasspark.com/search/swimming%20pool) on tumblr, even though I deviated from the prompt a bit (NSFW!)
> 
> Written for [12 Days of Sterek](http://12daysofsterek.tumblr.com/), run by [literaryoblivion](http://literaryoblivion.tumblr.com/), who deserves a million kudos and thanks for accommodating my sh*t - no seriously, I owe you one. You saved my butt on this, and I love you for it.

The problem with Stiles is that he absolutely totally 100% thinks he's  _hilarious._

It's not so much a problem as it is... No, it's a  _problem._

Because he really isn't, except maybe when he snorts milk out of his nose, or when he mimics Coach Finstock perfectly, or when he goes to Deaton's to play in the puppy pens and ends up with the same grumpy Pomeranian chewing his hair each time. But that's entirely besides the point. 

 _Nothing_ about the way Stiles is fellating that Popsicle is funny.  ** _Nothing._**

The problem, the other problem, because Stiles is eminently problematic, is that he's only seventeen, and Derek...

Derek is not. 

Derek is twenty-two, and when he was seventeen, he'd slept with a thirty year old woman who'd robbed him of every vestige of his childhood, and then tried to kill his family and burn his house down. Thankfully Uncle Peter had smelled the gasoline half a mile away, and his Mom had carved Kate's face off before dumping her corpse on the Argent's front porch, for Chris to deal with. 

And he knows this is nothing like that, that Stiles is smarter than he had been, that he is nothing like Kate, and that age is just an arbitrary number. He knows that Stiles' consent isn't going to mean anything different once his birthday has passed. Stiles has made every possible argument he can think of. Loudly. In public. There have been PowerPoint slides and handouts. 

 _Everyone,_ including his Mom and the Sheriff, thinks Stiles is  _hilarious._ Uncle Peter possibly loves Stiles more than he loves Derek.  _Laura,_  because he is being punished for his past sins or something, has all but planned their wedding. 

He hasn't even kissed Stiles. 

The problem, and this is the  _real_ problem, more so than Stiles' unfortunate habit of fellating every available phallic object with his obscene mouth, is that Derek loves him. 

He  _loves_ Stiles. 

And Stiles loves him. 

And  _everyone_ knows it, from Stiles' Best Friend (Scott), to Derek's entire extended family, to the Sheriff of the freaking town -  _everybody_ knows. 

Derek is the only one holding back. 

It isn't hesitation, per se, not really. It's more of a promise to himself, that he'd made in the heat of the moment, and refused to break, no matter how people teased him about it. Nothing about what had happened to him had been funny. Nothing about statutory- 

Well.

He just isn't going to be that person, and ultimately, Stiles understands. He does. He doesn't pressure Derek to have sex with him or anything; never joins in when people tease Derek about his feelings for the Sheriff's Son, and even stands up for him when things get out of hand. He just... 

He just finds it funny to lick Cheeto dust off his obscenely long fingers when they’re alone in Derek' apartment, watching reruns of law & order (forbidden at the Sheriff’s house) as if he doesn't know how much Derek wants to push his own fingers into Stiles' mouth instead. How much he wants to slide...  _other things_ into that lush heat, and just -  _fuck._

_Fuck._

Stiles thinks he's funny, so he licks his fingers a lot, eats a truly disgusting number of cherry popsicles (to the extent that he's started smelling like them), and chews  multiple straws to  _death_ in front of Derek. He wears skinny jeans that hadn't fit him  _before_  he started running 50 miles a week, that are practically bursting around his toned ass and thighs, and sweaters that do nothing to hide the firm muscles on his broad chest and shoulders. He grows out his hair and discards his collection of colourful beanies, and swaps his baggy hoodies for a fitted jacket and rectangular glasses that Derek quite frankly wants to _break_ , with his _thighs_. 

Nothing about Stiles is publicly acceptable, and he thinks he's funny, but Derek is just... Not.

He knows how he looks, of course, Kate had made that very clear when she'd clawed up his back with her human nails and left him bleeding. It had only occurred to him later,  _much_ later, that he’d only kept bleeding because her nail polish had been tinted with wolfsbane.

He's a  _werewolf_. He knows when people are attracted to him, it's not ego. It's not something he's proud of. He knows Stiles is attracted to him, but that's not what gets him. What gets him is the soft maple smell of affection, and the warm cinnamon of love, and - 

It's not lust. 

So when Stiles bends over to pick up things he's deliberately dropped, Derek watches, because it makes Stiles smell happy, and proud, and it's not exactly a hardship to watch Stiles' abused jeans stretch and groan, trying to accommodate the girth of his thighs, _holy shit_.

He just  _doesn't know how to respond._  Doesn't know how to flirt back, to let Stiles know that he loves him too, and that this is just a waiting game, and that he's always grateful that Stiles is okay with waiting for him, that he's so glad Stiles decided not to move on in the time it took for Derek to get over his own hang-ups. 

All he knows is that he looks good. He doesn't know what to do with that. It's not like he even had to work for it. It's just luck, it doesn't mean anything.

But that doesn't mean he doesn't feel proud as hell when stiles walks into stationary objects when Derek is fishing things out from underneath kitchen cabinets, or from behind the couch. Stiles’ delight had made him feel like he could _float_ into the clouds, because of the way Stiles felt around him, like he was high on Stiles' giddy euphoria and attraction and just -

Still, that had happened to him _once_ , and the Sheriff was constantly complaining that he'd have to take up stock in Popsicles and lollipops if things continued the way they were. Stiles' is playing a higher level of the game Derek is playing, and it is going to be the death of him. 

Or at least, it might have been, if Laura hadn't unwittingly given him an idea...

That's how he ended up in the swimming pool on the roof of his top floor apartment. Most people would have thought it showy, especially for a young professional, but seeing as Derek had essentially designed the building, he figured he deserved it. And his friends and family loved it, which made him happy. He didn't care what anyone else said. 

Stiles was coming over for dinner that night, and on any other day, Derek would have been planning dinner and a movie, or three, or even video games, because Stiles didn't have to go home on weekend nights, and so preferred to sleep in Derek’s guest bedroom, as if he didn’t know that his scent on the bedsheets drove Derek _insane_ the rest of the week.

He claimed it was because his dad was cool enough that he didn't care if Stiles was having sex, but since that was illegal and his dad was the  _Sheriff,_ that was blatantly untrue. It was just that the Sheriff said he knew his Son wasn't getting laid, because Derek was responsible enough, and Stiles was way too much of a dork to be getting any on a regular basis. 

Which was true enough, but Stiles' dorkiness was one of the reasons Derek loved him, and Stiles knew that. 

But today was not any other day. Today was the day Derek made Stiles pay for every awkward boner Derek had ever popped; for every stutter and stumble and hitched breath that had made his family laugh at him; for every last wet dream that had revolved around images of Stiles’ lips around Derek’s cock, or Derek’s fingers in his ass.

Which was why he was in the pool. 

Naked. 

The benefits of a private pool are many and varied, really. Mostly he’s just glad that there are no neighbours to complain about how loud pack parties are. Now, he’s thrilled that he gets to do this.

Okay, in hindsight, it was less _subtle flirting_ and more _blatant seduction_ , but Laura had had a point. Maybe. Because he didn't know how to flirt, because he'd never had to, and he'd never wanted to, and Stiles flirted all the time, but responded like he was shocked whenever anyone flirted back. Maybe Derek just wants to make Stiles feel the same way he feels as when he feeds Derek icing with his fingers. Any maybe a small part of him wants to see the look on Stiles' face when Derek treats him the way Stiles treats Derek, just to make sure they’re all on the same page. The thought of Stiles doubting the depth of Derek’s feelings for him makes him _hurt_ inside.

Because Derek is hardworking and easily bored, he starts swimming laps while waiting for Stiles to arrive. Which is why he didn’t notice when Stiles _does_ arrive. And when he notices, there is a moment of shock, during which they both stand there, frozen.

But Derek is nothing but great at sticking with the plan, so that’s what he does. He swims to the edge of the pool and hauls himself up with his palms flat on the tile at the edge of the pool, propelling himself up with his foot on a conveniently placed step underwater.

This is the easy part, which is nice. He knows how he looks. He knows Stiles is attracted to him, and if he ever doubted it, the glazed look in Stiles’ eyes is more than enough to reassure him. Stiles’ hands are hanging limply by his sides, his phone clutched precariously in white-knuckled fingers. Stiles’ jaw has actually dropped, and Derek can hear his heartbeat explode, and the smell of lust fill the air.

 _Good_.

That’s exactly how Derek feels when Stiles chews on pen after pen, and on disposable chopsticks, and on sticks of beef jerky. Stiles _deserves_ this.

He pushes himself to his feet from where he’s sitting on the edge of the swimming pool, a little slower than he would have done normally. He’s doing his best to show off now, and it seems to be working, because Stiles is swallowing compulsively and his eyes have not moved from the direction of Derek’s crotch.

Derek walks towards Stiles and doesn’t stop outside his personal-space-bubble. He steps right up to Stiles, still dripping wet, and grins, because this close to Stiles, there are literally no secrets. He thinks he could explode with pride at having given Stiles an awkward boner. He’d thought he was the only one susceptible to them.

With one finger, he pushes Stiles’ jaw up to close his mouth, so that his teeth click against each other. Stiles swallows again, and Derek leans in so close that the front of Stiles’ shirts might be getting wet from Derek’s skin. He can definitely feel the heat of Stiles’ dick through the fabric of his clothes, and he is absolutely the _best_ at this, it’s _amazing_.

And because he’s feeling particularly inspired, he leans in a little closer, hears Stiles’ heart skip a beat, and whispers in his huskiest voice, “Merry Christmas, Stiles,” before turning and walking away, not bothering with a towel. Stiles stands there, and doesn’t move until after Derek has rinsed off the chlorine in his own shower, and pulled on his comfiest sweats. He doesn’t move when Derek puts on the kettle, until he hears the microwave _ding_ , and then Derek can hear him rushing down the steps into the apartment, two at a time.

He grins to himself.

Mission. Fucking. Accomplished.

**Author's Note:**

> Concrit appreciated, but be gentle because I had major exams, ended up in Hospital, and started work all within the span of a week!


End file.
